


Of victory waiting, yet to be claimed

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Come Marking, Double-teamed, Drunken Shenanigans, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Overwhelmed Cullen, Quickies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After that one game of Wicked Grace, Cullen is pursued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of victory waiting, yet to be claimed

Cullen's on the top floor of the Herald's Rest when they catch him--or rather, when Bull walks through the door to the tower, and Dorian up the stairs from the floor below. 

It's not that he thought Dorian was chasing him, precisely. It's just that he was going as fast as possible and now he's stopped and Dorian's just walking toward Cullen, his gait clearly made loose and easy by drink. "Why the hurry," he asks, drawling out the ys, while Cullen cups one hand over his privates and unconsciously brings the other up to cover his mouth.

The way Dorian's walking is nearly explicit in and of itself, the way he's rolling his hips, and a glance at the door shows that Bull's not going anywhere and enjoying the show besides. Cullen covers his eyes, briefly, before stumbling backward as Dorian continues to approach. "Dorian--" 

He's drunk, clearly. Not just his walk show it, but the drawl, the way he repeats what he already said, drawing the words out even more. _Whyyyy the huuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyy, commander?_

"No reason," Cullen says, and knows his voice is too high. He knows he can't stop himself from backing up, either, until he feels his back touch the cool boards and he looks to his right and there's Bull, atop the steps, watching silent and steady. 

"Mmmm," Dorian hums. He doesn't stop approaching, not when the (warm, warm) velvet of his pants is pressing against Cullen's arm and the coolness of the leather is a contrast and Cullen laughs uncomfortably but Dorian just smiles.

Wide. Languid.

There's light in his eyes that is something akin to the look he gets during chess, an animal on the prowl, but more base and Cullen wishes he hadn't had as much to drink. Wishes he didn't feel so--helpless, and still Dorian presses harder, huffs out a warm breath over Cullen's face. 

All Cullen can think about is Dorian's weight against him. He's so--thick. Not that Cullen isn't, but he's never really thought before about how Dorian is just as thick and muscled and heavy and. Pressing. 

There's rushing in his ears and he wonders if he should move his hand, because he can feel Dorian's--his _cock_ , it's getting hard against the back of Cullen's hand and Cullen knows his eyes are going wide and yet he cannot stop it. No more than he can stop the flush, the tight discomfort and the heat that seems to flow into him from everywhere at once.

He's not worried about the cold walk to his tower. Now he's just worried about whether he should move his hand, or--

Possibly he should pay attention to what Dorian is saying, except it's difficult, with Dorian so hard against Cullen's arm, like an iron rod, and he wants to move his hand, but then his cock would be touching Dorian's and Dorian would know that Cullen's just as hard and Dorian _cannot know_.

Especially with Bull standing there. Their relationship--it seems like it's one of the few good things to come out of the inquisition these days and Cullen doesn't want to ruin that. Cullen refuses to, which is probably why his brain refuses to hear, up until Dorian's leaning his head down and then.

Kissing. Dorian's kissing Cullen. Hard.

Cullen's kissing back, is the problem. He didn't give his body permission, but his body will do as it likes, clearly. His body is a tool and how many times has he--said that, _prayed_ that, let me be your tool, Maker. 

Only this is a different type of tool. This is--a base tool, one Dorian's crafting, with his teeth and the triumphant little noise he makes when Cullen's knees go weak and he leans against Dorian and. 

It's not sweetness. It's not. Anything like that. It's claiming. Dorian claims Cullen's mouth and Cullen surrenders, Cullen shows his belly and likes it and by the time Dorian breaks the kiss Cullen's panting, his cock is harder than Dorian's, and all semblance of higher thought is gone.

At least until Bull huffs a laugh and Dorian says--murmurs, as if to a lover, "I knew you weren't interested in running away, commander."

"Soldier," Bull corrects, and Cullen looks to him in time to see a pleased grin disappear in favor of a heated expression. 

"We can't--" Cullen begins, wanting to explain, wanting them to--to understand, that he values them, he values their relationship, and he wants nothing so much as to watch it from the outside and experience joy vicariously in the moments when they allow him to see it. "I don't want to, to _destroy_ the sanctity of--"

Cullen means to finish what he's saying, truly, he does, it's just that Dorian's pulling Cullen's hand away, out from between them, and suddenly it's all heat and pressure and Cullen can't speak anymore. He moans, low as he would jerking off quietly in his bunk, and feels himself go boneless against Dorian, even as his hips stutter, his body as usual knowing what it wants far better than Cullen can ever hope to articulate. 

He's sliding down the wall, but only for a moment. Bull's there, then, hulking over both of them, pressing Cullen more thoroughly to the wall and Dorian more thoroughly against him. They both moan, Cullen high and abbreviated, Dorian low and long as he reaches behind him, one hand behind the back of Bull's neck. 

"Hush," Dorian says to Cullen, firmly, and not a second later Bull's kissing him.

Of course Cullen's seen them kiss before. It's not that everyone has, but merely that Dorian and Bull are both comfortable in front of Cullen and relaxed enough to allow him to be a party to-- _Maker's breath_ , Cullen thinks helplessly, mind and body reeling together as Bull's fingers dig into Cullen's hip with the same care that his teeth dig into Dorian's lip. 

It's beautiful. Sacred, their... bond. Cullen will only break it, will only muddy the water and foul up what should be--divine, revered. He doesn't have it in him to stop them, though. Not when Dorian shudders wonderfully, caught between them, and Bull's other hand tangles in Cullen's hair and Bull turns to Cullen, Dorian leans to the side so Bull's horns don't clip him.

Bull's kiss is hesitant.

No, Cullen thinks, opening his mouth, tilting his head, accepting, letting his body speak a language it knows far better than he ever will.

Bull's kiss is evoking. He draws Cullen out by measures, asks quiet questions and waits for an eager response and then he demands. After that he is as sure and as full of passion and fire as Dorian. It's different passion, without teeth and pain but instead with--skill, with broken kisses and brief bites and sucking and Bull's fingers, stroking, rubbing, pressing, until Cullen is just as breathless as Dorian made him and wanting in an entirely different way. 

Shaking for entirely different reasons, feeling--exposed, in ways that have nothing to do with the fact that he is naked and both of them clothed. 

"Tell me, soldier," Bull murmurs, thumb rubbing along Cullen's cheekbone. "Do you prefer to be fucked from behind, or face to face?" 

Cullen's eyes slide shut and he moans again--still no louder than he would alone in his bunk, but he cannot help it, he's quiet by nature, and they're drawing out every sound he can make in spite of it. He whines on the inhale, shuddering as Dorian rocks their hips together, as Bull digs in his fingers once more, firm on Cullen's hip. 

"That's it," Dorian breathes, triumph clear in his voice, and Bull laughs once, and Cullen has the wild idea that they planned this, that they've wanted this, and he knows it can't be true but he wonders, even so.

He doesn't wonder for long, can't, not with Dorian growling "Yes, yes," and Bull leaning down once more to capture Cullen's mouth and. 

Cullen's never been good at holding back. He comes, Bull's mouth still covering his, shuddering, clinging to Dorian in spite of his resolution to--to not demand anything and. Dorian laughs now, pleased, joyous, aroused. 

"Oh yes, that's beautiful, commander. Beautiful." 

Abruptly, Cullen realizes that he's sliding down the wall again, that they're not holding him up, that Bull is kissing Dorian thoroughly, and somehow Dorian's cock is out despite none of his clothes being off. 

The hot splatter of semen is--familiar. Cullen can't close his eyes, watches desperately, but Dorian comes mostly on Cullen's chest anyway. As the two of them stumble away, down the stairs, Cullen realizes that on the landing, the door to the tower where Bull stood, is a pile of clothes. 

Cullen's clothes. 

Might as well, Cullen thinks, and slides his hand down over his chest, brings his fingers to his mouth, and tries not to hope.


End file.
